Horses Made of Sticks
by mickeylover303
Summary: It was like a shot from a gun - unexpected - something that had gone as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a silence still not enough to shatter the world. NickGreg.


It started off as convenience, the simple kind of convenience that held behind it no rationale and demanded immediate concern, but one Nick didn't want to acknowledge. Or maybe it was really because Greg was there and it had less to do with convenience and more with the fact that Nick wasn't really in his right mind after being buried alive.

Because Greg didn't remember the older man climbing on top of him, pushing him further into Nick's couch and attacking his mouth clumsily with a desperate sort of ferocity that reminded Greg of that raw and painful eagerness that only happened twice in his life. When he threw himself into work after the explosion in the Lab and when he lost his virginity to Sherry Martin.

He regretted that he would always remember her; the same Sherry whose green eyes were once the most amazing colour in the world; the same Sherry with the pretty, light blonde hair and rosy cheeks that seemed to flush even more out in the sun. And cute, perfect toes she always liked to exhibit by either wearing sandals or walking barefoot on the beach.

It wasn't at all what he imagined his first true sexual encounter to be; nothing like what he'd heard from other people or seen in the movies. It was tense and awkward that night in the backseat of her car and he had to admit that he didn't know what to do. And years later he could still envision that impatient scowl on her face, marring features his first impression of her led him to believe were pretty.

He could never forget how her small mouth seemed to be permanently set in a thin line as she pulled down her skirt. And while the expression on her face didn't change Sherry's decision to drop him off at his apartment, it decided that Greg wouldn't see her the next day, the next week, the next year and it wasn't until now that Greg had really thought of her in earnest. Because the experience had left an ache inside of him that had never had the chance to heal, from which he knew he would never recover, and continued to fuel insecurities that still plagued him in his adult life.

And it was the same kind of emotional ache that seemed to surpass the physical hurt when he felt the older man inside of him. Their movements quickly becoming frantic and somewhere amidst the kissing and groping they'd forgotten that they've never done this before and it wasn't until he felt the pain of Nick penetrating him did Greg remember that they weren't using lubrication.

The awareness briefly made Greg wonder if what his friends used to say about him was true. Maybe Greg was masochistic and was self-destructive enough to allow that kind of pain because he never thought to wonder why he didn't stop it. The harsh rocking of their movements, erratic and mismatched breathing that seemed to fit their actions but not each other. It was a release, a violent and forceful kind of catharsis that Greg didn't realize he needed and one Nick seemed none too reluctant to provide.

And even if it was simply physical gratification for Nick, it was the intensity that made Greg reluctant to pull away. The way calloused hands would run over his skin, hastily searching and exploring as if Nick was trying to commit Greg's body to memory. The way Nick would peer at _him_; concentrate on Greg like he was the only person in the world. Dark brown eyes never wavering as Nick hovered above him, gaze pinning Greg to the bed like nothing else could and a frighteningly serene look on his face that utterly contradicted what the rest of Nick was doing to him.

It always fascinated Greg to note that the marks around his hips – initially red and vibrant against his skin – were given by the same hands making the tentative calls asking to meet again. And the bruises would never seem to fade, brought to life and revived each week, burning into his flesh until they gradually began to disappear, hiding beneath his complexion as if they never existed.

There were no apologies because Greg wasn't that gullible to believe in them and he couldn't deny that he and Nick didn't really agree to anything more than casual sex. There were no goodbyes or the meaningless kind of farewells that degraded the matter even more than necessary because the situation didn't merit something as intimate as that. No, it was in these instances that ignorance seemed to serve its purpose.

Nick didn't even take the time to lie and saved himself the trouble by dismissing the situation completely, quietly denying that there had been anything between them. And truthfully Greg didn't mind, even if it created a rift between them, it helped to salvage what little was left of their relationship. Because sometimes when he would interact with Nick, Greg would almost think he derived those thoughts from some deeply repressed fantasy and the awkwardness he would feel around Nick was his fault alone.

And he wanted to believe it, believe that those nights with Nick were nothing more than something out of his imagination. He wanted to believe that Nick wasn't distancing himself from Greg on purpose; speaking to Greg only when the need presented itself because of what happened between them.

But he couldn't believe it because he'd rather remember those nights when Nick seemed dedicated to him, focussed on him and driving Greg to the brink of life. And the vision of Nick would devour every moment, every second and Greg couldn't comprehend how someone could have this much power over him. But he didn't want to comprehend. He didn't want to understand because it would only take the sensation away, as it would when Nick finally landed on top of him, still inside him and breathing softly, calmly into the quiet room.

It was then Greg would remember that Nick was no longer there. No longer poised above him and that the images were nothing more than a twisted caprice from his mind. He would realise that there was no longer another body beside him and he was left only with silence kind and all too willing to take Nick's place.

And even now, Greg couldn't get rid of that god awful sound.

Bang.

* * *

_:insert standard issue disclaimer here:_

_Um...I can honestly say this is not a death fic, even though everything I wrote is deliberate (meaning yes, I understand what _without lubrication_ means). The last word only serves to reflect on the summary (and Greg's emotions). It's supposed to tie everything together; some attempt at continuation so it goes right back to the beginning. I honestly spent an hour on this - impromptu stuff - and I was listening to the Nancy Sinatra rendition of "My Baby Shot Me Down" (see title for allusion)._

_And though this is ridiculously angsty, I'm actually kind of proud of it._


End file.
